


Impropriety

by accessdenied



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Closet Sex, F/M, Hand Jobs, Post-Canon, Sexual Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:03:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6170176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accessdenied/pseuds/accessdenied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diplomatic meetings are impossibly dull and inconvenient. Leanne has ideas of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impropriety

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from tumblr at http://caladblog.tumblr.com/post/140433400055/impropriety.

It ought to be made illegal, the way Princess Leanne’s dress drapes over her curves.

Oh, it’s perfectly modest, perfectly heronlike. Maybe that’s Naesala’s problem–he knows herons too well. Maybe everyone else in the room sees nothing but a woman in a simple white and pale pink dress. The beorc queens are certainly dressed more extravagantly in hemlines that hit well above the knee, and by Gallian standards she might as well be wrapped in three layers of blankets.

But Naesala is the only other bird at this particular diplomatic meeting, stepping in for Empress Sanaki while Leanne represents Tibarn and the united bird tribe’s interests. (Conflict in Serenes keeps both of them away from Gallia’s capital where the meeting is being held this year. Who could’ve foreseen _that_?)

And Naesala knows the nuances of heron fashion, the significance of the deep vee of her belt. 

More than that, he knows that the whisper of her hem against the floor, the shift of cloth against skin, the rustle of feathers that accompanies her every movement is driving him slowly mad. He is acutely, painfully aware of her, though he does his best to hide it and focus on the talks. But Gallian-Crimean relations dominate the conversation, and neither he nor his employer have much of a stake in the outcome, and it provides little distraction.

Mercifully, a break is called when King Gallia–barely out of kittenhood, honestly–loses his temper, and Naesala takes the opportunity to saunter out onto a balcony and contemplate shifting, going for a little hunt to clear his head. Before he can make a decision one way or the other, he senses a presence behind him.

“I never will get used to the heat of this country,” he says, idly flapping his wings to create a small breeze. He hasn’t been forced to wear long sleeves in two years now, but old habits die hard. He glances over his shoulder to Leanne, who leans casually on the threshold. “How _did_ you survive so much time here?”

“I know better place,” she says with only a hint of the stutter that used to pepper her speech, and he can’t resist her sweet smile. He takes her arm with a gallant smirk and lets her lead him down a hallway.

“Your grasp of the common tongue is impressive. Who is your teacher, if I may ask?”

“Queen Elincia, first. Then, others. All kinds,” she replies, somewhat mysteriously. He’s about to press for details when she stops at a door, and opens it into a darkened room, and tugs him inside.

His eyes take several long moments to adjust, and by the time they do, he realizes she’s closed the door of… a supply closet?

“Well, the shade’s certainly nice, at least,” he says in a dry voice, blinking furiously. “Leanne, what are you–” and then his words are cut off by her mouth against his, soft but insistent, and he melts into the kiss for a dreamlike second before he snaps to his senses and jerks away.

“Leanne!”

She traces her hands over the lapels of his coat. “Naesala.”

“Why did– what– you shouldn’t–” He’s fully aware that he’s babbling. But she’s so close, so bright in the darkness, and he can’t seem to close his mouth.

Leanne rolls her shoulders in a casual shrug. “Wanting. Could feel yours, and mine.”

Naesala swears under his breath and knocks his head against the wall. “I was _trying_ to keep that to myself.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Why?”

“Because we’re– it’s–” He bites down hard on his tongue, and takes a deep breath, and keeps going. “I wasn’t going to _act_ on those feelings because they are… they are highly inappropriate, and, at any rate, your brothers don’t approve.”

Leanne sighs and taps his chest. “Rafiel… s-says yes, for this. He is eldest. Reyson…” and then an epithet in the Ancient Tongue that would scandalize the heron in question despite being entirely true.

Naesala does his best not to laugh. “Prince Rafiel has all but formally abdicated his right to lead your family, and makes preparations to cross the desert with his betrothed even as we speak. And so, it is Reyson’s opinion which matters, and that of the king he has on a leash.”

She responds with the most lovely and musical version of _Fuck them, I can do whatever I want_ ever spoken in any language.

“Yes, dear, but they already both want my head on a pike, and I’d rather not give them any more reason to seek it out, hm?” He gently places his hands on her shoulders, so deceptively delicate and fragile, and takes a half step backwards. “It’s best we–”

“Did not drag you here to speak of brothers,” Leanne interrupts sullenly. “Did not drag you here to _speak_.” And with that, she closes the space between them, slipping her thin hands into his coat and resting them on his hips, and she doesn’t need to hear the hitch in his breath to know the effect her touch has on him. Like a spark to dry tinder. She was gone for so _long_ …

“Leanne,” he pleads, attempting to keep his emotions under wraps, “this isn’t–” but the rest of his sentence is swallowed by a sharp intake of air when she untucks his shirt and skims her fingertips across his abdomen. The muscles there clench under her touch, drawing him closer ever so slightly, and all his clothing is much too tight.

She’d take him now, _here_ , in this closet in this castle full of beasts and their damned sense of smell, and that realization sets his heart pounding fiercely between his legs. He could do it, he thinks dizzily, she weighs little enough to balance his back against the wall and let her thrust–

Leanne’s grinning wickedly, and she says something in the Ancient Tongue that he doesn’t catch, and she tugs his hips until they’re flush against hers and that long, clinging dress. He casts his thoughts towards the heavens and blames the dead Goddess for his lack of restraint.

“Touch from me is not… proper?” she says, low and velvety. “Then show me how you take yourself.”

“Goddess, who _are_ you learning the common language from?” he says shakily. She just laughs in return, and ghosts her fingertips over the outline of his cock, and he arches up into her touch with a bitten-down groan.

His self-control is rapidly eroding, what with the way she’s looking at him, and thus he undoes the laces of his trousers and wraps his hand around his cock before he can convince himself not to do so.

Even that first slow stroke is delicious relief, and his eyes flutter shut as his chest heaves with the effort of remaining quiet. And then smooth, cool fingers wrap around his hand and his eyes snap open in shock to see Leanne, inches from his face, her gaze burning into his, and he just barely strangles a sound in the back of his throat.

“Thought you wanted a show,” he says in a strained voice.

“Wanted a bite,” she corrects. “Settled for show.”

His hips jerk up of their own accord. Goddess, to have her in front of him again–

“In front, behind, whichever,” she says offhand, and he nearly chokes on his own tongue. She’s kept his hand moving at a steady pace. He’s kept himself from crying out her name, but only just.

Leanne presses her lips against the column of his throat and whispers, “Sing for me now.”

It almost kills him. “If you wanted to hear me,” Naesala says between harsh panting breaths, “you shouldn’t’ve s-seduced me in Castle Gallia. Kilvas, though– perfect seclusion, lovely weather this time of year–”

She laughs, and then she bites, and then he wails until he can shove his free hand against his mouth to muffle the sound.

“Now _that_ is no way for a royal heron to act.” His voice is embarrassingly high-pitched.

Leanne peppers his skin with smaller bites, trailing up to his jaw, and she urges his hand to move faster, and he is helpless beneath her touch. It isn’t long before he’s squirming against her, oversensitive and trying desperately to stave off his climax, and his knees buckle, sending him staggering back against the wall of the closet, wings pinned uncomfortably beneath him, fingertips scrabbling for any purchase against the brick. She follows him the whole way, arching her lean body to nibble on the shell of his ear.

Words are unnecessary, but he stammers out a warning anyway. “Leanne– please, I–”

“Come for me,” she murmurs in a voice like silk, and so he does.

The tiny room is filled with the sound of his strained breathing. She catches his gaze and holds it, and slowly draws his hand up to her mouth, and licks the come from his fingers with long, lazy strokes of her tongue. His cock twitches and he whimpers, unable to look away.

“Why did you…” he says breathlessly.

“Already said.” She’s all business now, preening him back to a decent state. “Wanted. But you… concerned with _proper_. So I will take what you will give, and I will be happy of it.” She licks her lips and looks him up and down. “ _Very_ happy.”

His mouth goes dry at her implications. “Oh, Goddess, Reyson’s going to have me slaughtered.”

“Tibarn will not hurt you,” she says with calm certainty, straightening one of his askew feathers.

He automatically returns the gesture by fixing her loose braid. “And how do you know that?”

“Because I claim you as _mine_.”

“Well, that’s very touching,” Naesala says bitterly. “Make sure it’s etched on my tombstone, yes? ‘Here lies Princess Leanne’s favorite pile of miscellaneous bones and gristle–’”

“Reyson will say no. Reyson will know hurting you is hurting me.” Leanne gently cups his head in her palms and gazes into his eyes. “Will not like, but will know. So… we do proper. And I make do until then, with this. Is deal?”

There’s such confidence in her voice, and it makes an annoying amount of sense, and he never could resist her requests anyway. Naesala gives her a crooked smile. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to make deals with crows?”

She grins, bright as the sun itself. “Good thing you are _raven_ , then.”


End file.
